


the law of series

by aluinihi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 520 Day | Edward Elric/Roy Mustang Day, Attempt at Humor, Coincidences, Edward Elric Keeps Alchemy, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Roy Mustang, Post-Canon, in fact coincidences are a major plot point if you can find any plot here, set precisely on the day 05/20/1920 bc timeline allows that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aluinihi/pseuds/aluinihi
Summary: It's around lunchtime when it dawns on him that he is being haunted, and in the unlikely event that he manages to make it through the day without any major changes in his personality, he will be sure to never let this sort of thing get to him again.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 16
Kudos: 95





	the law of series

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> I wanted to write this for so long now! Thank you, Hiromu Arakawa, for making a timeline that allows me to write about the day 05/20/1920 ( or 20/05/20) on 05/20/2020 (or 20/05/20). It's a lot of 520s and I'm very happy!  
> English is not my native language! I am a tired author who hates to edit, so I apologize for any mistakes!

It starts surreptitiously, sooner than one would imagine. The bad habit of waking up before the alarm goes off leaves Roy twisting and turning, stubbornly refusing to leave the bed before the day starts. The anxiety builds up into an unbearable urge to open his eyes, which he does. Then, he is face to face with the bedside clock ticking obnoxiously:

_five-twenty in the morning_

He squints at the offending machine. There is an underlying message somewhere, his instincts shout, but the rational part of him can't quite put a finger on it. Deeply troubled, he rolls onto his back and waits for the sun to rise.

  


*** * ***

  


The second incident is less conspicuous, though increasingly worrisome. Havoc comes to get him at 07:30 and his punctuality is outstanding — which is a disgrace because Roy hasn't had breakfast yet and only has time to grab half a dozen crackers to eat on the way. Nothing is out of the ordinary, but the looming impression that he is forgetting _something_ keeps him on the edge.

The plaques of the cars Havoc borrows from headquarters are not data Roy needs to memorize and so, he never pays attention to those. However, today, he is disturbingly aware that it ends in _520_.

He shudders and brushes the thought to the side. If it doesn't ring any bells when it's supposed to, it won't do so even if he tries his hardest.

When Roy gets to the office, he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. Hawkeye scrutinizes him as a greeting, Fuery is tinkering with the radio again, Edward has his feet on the desk and Falman looks about to pass out because of that. Breda made this morning's coffee and it looks like a gooey spicy soup.

More of the usual.

Sitting on his completely normal chair, with his elbows resting on his very standard tabletop, Roy sips his customary caffeine and ponders — because ever since he woke up, he's been plagued by this feeling that something is amiss. He checks his calendar, wondering if he is forgetting a special event, but neither _Wednesday_ nor _twentieth of May_ remind him of anything in particular. He massages his temples, breathing in deep to keep the confusion from growing into annoyance. It's unsuccessful: the feeling is still there and in front of him there is a pile of files to go through.

He groans and gets to work.

  


*** * ***

  


It's around lunchtime when it dawns on him that he is being haunted, and in the unlikely event that he manages to make it through the day without any major changes in his personality, he will be sure to never let this sort of thing get to him again.

The realization comes in the form of Edward Elric, who barges into the room waving a stack of papers like it's a fan.

"Holy _shit_ ," he exclaims, "This office feels like hell during this time of the year! It's like I'm boiling inside a five hundred degrees sauna, which is pretty weird considering that outside is like, not even twenty degrees."

Five hundred. Twenty. Roy winces.

Indeed, Edward seems to be going through a heat-induced ruffle. He is not one to wear a pristine uniform — Roy is surprised that he wears it at all, though that could be a maturity thing — but right now, the blue overcoat is nowhere to be seen and Roy is exposed to the view of two tanned arms and collarbones and neck and— yes. Maybe five hundred wasn't an exaggeration. It does feel warm here. Roy puts his pen down and smirks.

"If this region's conditions are too dire for you," he teases, "I'm sure General Armstrong wouldn't mind some extra manpower."

Edward rolls his eyes and flops dramatically onto the couch. "Assigned to a boss that actually works? Sounds like the dream." 

Maybe because today is really not his day, or because of the stress of the ever-growing pile of documents to his left, or the distracting movement of Edward's neck when he throws his head back— but the point is, he can't come up with a reply to match. That unnerves him even more. He offers a lukewarm smile and looks down at the block of words he is supposed to be reading.

_...to be assigned before 31/05/20 …_

He frowns.

From across the room, Edward asks, "What's up?"

Roy opens his mouth to make a comment on Edward's interest in gossip and how he should stop having lunch with Havoc every day, but instead, he says very seriously, "Have you ever felt like you should be thinking about something in specific but somehow it always evades you?"

"Nope," Edward scoffs, "I'm too young to be going senile."

Roy shouts for Hawkeye to fix the worrisome problematic of overly idle subordinates.

  


*** * ***

  


"Sir, you have a meeting today at twenty past five."

"Of course I do."

  


*** * ***

  


The science in which he believes has contradicting opinions on coincidences and their consequences but Roy is pretty sure he has become the living proof that they are real and mind-wrecking.

Edward still waltzes into the inner office one more time to invite him for lunch, which only prompts Roy to worry about his sanity even more. Maybe he got thrown into a parallel universe. (But unfortunately, he has to tell Edward _no, thank you_ because somebody wants to transport five-hundred and twenty sheep across the Cretan border and Roy has no idea why he is the one signing this.) He is almost sixty-percent sure of his theory because, when Edward comes back, he _brings him a sandwich_ wrapped in gray paper with the order number _520_ scribbled on it.

And things keep getting weirder: his pocket watch decides to freeze at precisely 5:20 p.m., the meeting is on the fifth floor in the twentieth room to his left, and when he gets there he is given a stack of papers because they are supposed to discuss the fifth item that is, _guess what_ , on page twenty.

He can't be the only one seeing this.

Statistically speaking, it's all made up. His brain is making a connection that he doesn't understand, but it's nothing but his own brain. Figments of his imagination giving deeper meaning to algorisms appearing in what must be an objectively normal amount of times. By the end of the meeting, Roy has given himself a headache and he can't wait to rest his face on the cool wood of his desk nap until this is all over.

He is usually the last one to leave the office and today won't be any different. However, it is a pleasant surprise to see that Hawkeye and Edward are still there despite it being past seven — one cleaning a gun and the other scribbling on a notepad. They both have their own brands of concentrated frown and neither looks up at him when he enters the room. Roy finds them both endearing in different ways.

Hawkeye keeps her stern posture even when she is deeply invested in something; her movements are steady and dexterous and her appearance remains calm even with the small crease between her brows. Meanwhile, Edward personifies the intensity of a genius — the pen slides across the page with impressive speed and Roy can see from here how messy his handwriting is. The overcoat is still nowhere to be seen and a few strands of hair are coming loose, dangling in front of his eyes.

He is writing with his left hand, Roy notices. The automail forced Edward to write with his left hand for all those years and so, ever since he got his arm back, he insists on using the other even if it's slower. It's understandable, in Roy's opinion. Preferable. Edward's right-handed penmanship is much better.

But he still uses the left hand — as a reflex, Roy assumes — when the thoughts are too fast and he has to keep up.

That focus of his is admirable, yes, and Roy has a crush, of course. So he walks up to Edward's desk and sees a bunch of scattered calculations that he doesn't try to comprehend and his eyes fixate on the most legible number on the paper:

_520_

He looks back at Edward, who remains ignorant of his inner turmoil and very unprofessional feelings. Then back at the number.

There was a car once. A ride. And a few coins Roy is yet to retrieve.

He slaps a hand over his forehead, "The money!"

After an entire day walking on the edge of a frustration breakdown, the memory hits him in a wave of euphoria that almost makes him laugh out loud. _Almost_. The joy dies down pretty quickly when he realizes he's just shouted with no context or whatsoever and now the other two are staring at him as if he's lost his mind.

Which is a possibility to be considered, frankly.

Before he can bullshit his way out of the room, Edward crosses his — _muscled, tanned_ — arms and asks him flatly, "What money?"

"The money," Roy says unhelpfully, prolonging each vowel to stall the most he can. "The. Money. The money. You bought me lunch today and I was wondering if instead of paying you directly, I could maybe treat you to dinner."

Internally, he is at the same time patting himself on the back and punching himself in the face for finishing that sentence. It took a lot of effort to say something utterly ridiculous.

To their side, Roy can hear Hawkeye setting the gun down on her desk.

Edward grins. "Since you're asking so nicely."

Roy ignores his heart's stupid tap-dance and decides there is no other option: it has to be a parallel universe.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY ROYED DAY!!!  
> I hope this was ok!  
> hmu on twitter @aluinhi


End file.
